


off green mulligan

by Pinkmanite



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternative Universe - Golf, Blowjobs, Hand Jobs, Hashtag Hookup Culture, Lake Houses, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 14:54:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11083932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkmanite/pseuds/Pinkmanite
Summary: It’s the middle of summer so there isn't really a big demand for soups or anything but here they are. Now Kaner’s stuck pretending to study the monotonous Campbell labels so Jonny doesn’t think he’s thinking about his dick.Kaner is totally thinking about Jonny’s dick.





	off green mulligan

 

 **MULLIGAN** || _mul·li·gan_ | North American Informal | (noun)

 

> A mulligan is a second chance to perform an action, usually after the first chance went wrong through bad luck or a blunder. Its best-known meaning is in golf, whereby a player is informally allowed to replay a stroke, even though this is against the formal rules of golf. The term has also been applied to other sports and games, and to other fields generally.

 

* * *

 

 

Put simply, Kaner fucking hates his job.

Kaner hates the lake house, hates this stupid small town, and hates summer. Because summer is when he has to deal with not only one, but _both_ of the previous items on his personal shitlist. It’s a short list.

It’d be nice if he could just stay at home in the suburbs and work at the Dick’s downtown with the rest of his buds. Stock up on some equipment with that young employee discount while fucking around with the display sets. He’d even be down to belay that stupid climbing wall that always seems to be closed. Maybe then it wouldn’t be closed all the goddamn time.

But now we’ll never know because Kaner’s sorry ass has been routinely hauled back up to the lake, just like every summer before. So next time you’re looking to climb at the Dick’s downtown but find that the climbing wall’s closed yet again, you can thank Kaner’s parents and maybe your frustration won’t be entirely misplaced.

And while you’re at the Dick’s downtown, frustratedly trying to deal with the rest of Kaner’s dumbass friends, poor Kaner will be an hour and a half north, getting sunburnt while dragging around golf clubs for the worst of the Midwest’s AARP.

And their stupidly attractive yet stupidly obnoxious grandsons.

Well.

One grandson in particular.

Jonathan waltzes around the freshly cut greens (courtesy of Kaner’s four AM call time) looking like he popped right out of a Vineyard Vines catalogue. Sans his inappropriate footwear. Who the fuck wears flip-flops for golf?

“Could I get a ball, please?” Jonathan holds a hand out without looking. He’s too busy squinting at the course all serious and intense and shit. Kaner grits his teeth and plops a ball in his stupidly expectant hand, biting down comments that’ll probably leave him unemployed.

Less than a minute later, Kaner regrets that decision because to be honest, unemployment doesn’t sound that bad anymore.

Jonathan’s ball lands with a resounding _plop,_ right in the middle of the decorative fountain.

“Nice one,” goads one of the guys in Jonathan’s entourage of the day. Kaner hasn’t seen them around before but he’s seen them enough to decide they’re right assholes. Sure, Jonathan’s always been kind of obnoxious and annoying but today’s choice of company only confirms Kaner’s suspicions about the type of person that Jonathan is.

“Hey Caddy,” another one drawls, “aren’t you going to retrieve it?”

Kaner can’t say shit but he sure as hell can stare at him with his best intimidation face. Is this asshole serious?

“It’s my ball, I’ll get it,” Jonathan says, already slipping off his sandals. His buddy, the first one, stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he guffaws, “that’s what the caddy is for.”

“Yeah, come on, J,” says the other.

They both look at Kaner expectantly.

Kaner looks at them like he wants to throw hands and give ‘em a good hook each. Because he does. He hopes they can sense it.

He doesn’t say a word but he isn’t gentle about toeing off his shoes and sandals and jumping over the walls of the fountain. He drags his feet (literally) and begrudgingly makes a show of reaching in, all the way to mid-forearm, to grab the stupid little ball.

He takes satisfaction in chucking it out of the fountain and right past one’s head. He can’t help but grin when he jumps with a little yelp, glaring at Kaner. Look, it’s the little things. Kaner already knows he’s probably not getting a good tip off this one but maybe it’s still worth it. Gotta choose the right battles.

By the time Kaner’s out of the fountain with his shoes re-tied, Jonathan and his goons are gone, already inside and sitting down for their bougie lunch. He heard it’s strip steak today.

Kaner, on the other hand, treats himself to his mom’s awesome, hand-packed PB&J before he has to pick up another set of talentless assholes who’ll probably ruin his grass.

 

~

 

Finally home, Kaner gets about two hours to himself -- spent wisely on the dock with his tablet out and his friends on Facetime -- before Erica’s running down the hill with a volleyball tucked under her arm.

Kaner glares at her and turns back around, shouting over his shoulder, “I’m tired as shit, I’m not gonna play volleyball with--”

_WHACK!_

The ball bounces right off Kaner’s head and rebounds into the water, rippling the surface in big-ass circles that give Kaner war flashbacks to his unfortunate morning.

“The fuck was that for?”

“For being a dick,” she laughs, hand on her hip.

Kaner rolls his eyes. “Why are you here?”

“There’s a party tonight at the mansion. Ya know, the one we always thought was haunted?”

“Yeah so?” Kaner slides his sunglasses back on dismissively.  

Erica reaches over and plucks them right off his nose and puts them on herself. “ _Soooo_ you’re going to come with me because Mom won’t let me go without you.”

“Guess you’re not going then.”

“Oh come on, Patty,” she whines, “live a little, maybe? Stop sulking about how you can’t get drunk with ‘yah boyz’” she mimics, “and maybe just get drunk? It’s summer, don’t be a loser.”

“I don’t wanna,” he says stubbornly.

“Haven’t you always wondered who lived in the mansion?” Erica says, switching tactics. She settles down next to him, legs criss-crossed. “Haven’t you ever wanted to see the inside?”

“I said _no_ , Erica.”

“I’m not going to leave you alone until we’re through the door and doing shots.”

Kaner looks away, pointedly ignoring Erica’s face. If he looks, she’ll immediately know his resolution is cracking and she’ll go in for the kill.

“Fine--”

“Yes!”

Kaner shushes her with a look. “For an hour. Only an hour.”

“Yay, thanks, Patty!” Erica grins all shit-eating like she knows something he doesn’t.

Kaner concludes that he should probably expect to stay longer than an hour.

 

~

 

Erica makes him change. Kaner was perfectly fine in swim trunks and the “PARTY ON ICE” tank he stole from Shawzy, but apparently this endeavor calls for his only pair of Chubbies (“Here, Patty, wear your pink shorts.” “They’re _pastel red_ , thanks.” “Mhm, of course they are.”) and an equally as pastel button down. Erica rolls the sleeves up before he even puts it on.

“Don’t tuck,” Erica scolds, swatting his hands away and pulling the fabric free. Kaner lets her, but not without a good dose of complaining.

His complaining, however, soon proves to be unwarranted because everyone at this dumb party looks like they got a dress code memo with a picture of Kaner’s outfit on it. It was probably the other way around, that Erica must’ve gotten some kind of heads up, but Kaner would never admit it, because the world kind of sort of revolves around him, anyway.

Kaner doesn’t get more than a minute to take in the arrangement of pastels before a new distraction appears.

Or rather, before a new distraction blocks the front door.

“ _You_ ,” Kaner seethes, glaring at the unfortunately familiar asshole bouncing the door. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Jonathan frowns. He looks a little confused but Kaner knows it’s probably just to throw him off. Sucks for him because Kaner’s great at cutting out bullshit and keeping his focus. On _and_ off the ice. Ask Coach if you don’t believe him.

“Um,” Jonathan starts, “I live here?”

Alright, maybe it’s a _little_ dramatic but Kaner turns toward Erica so slowly he should be in the Matrix. Or, wait, that’s the one with the freeze turns, he means-- nevermind. The point is that he gives Erica the meanest glare he can manage.

She doesn't even flinch. Of course she doesn’t.

“Well what are _you_ doing here?” Jonathan crosses his arms.

Erica wisely chooses that moment to pipe up, “hey Jonny, this is my brother, Patrick.”

Jonny shifts his attention to the less angry of the Kanes and it’s like he turns into this totally different person. He relaxes, leaning on the door frame and tucking his hands into his pockets. He’s grinning all warm and fuzzy and it makes Kaner even angrier. That’s his _sister_ that Jonny’s currently ogling.

In fact: “That’s my _sister_ that you’re currently ogling.”

Erica gives him a weird look, which is sort of a given, but then Jonny also gives him a similarly weird look and that’s just not acceptable. Deciding he shouldn’t be excluded from this party, Kaner also makes a weird look. He mostly directs it at Jonny.

After a couple seconds of everyone just making weird looks, Jonny blinks and gives up first (ha, put one on the board for eighty-eight!). He gets that stupid smile back, the one that started this in the first place, and holds the door open.

“Yeah, alright, I’m glad you made it, Erica.” Jonny says just as warmly, ushering her in. She giggles like she does when she’s flirting and Kaner’s ready to throws hands with her, too.

Jonny coughs awkwardly. “You coming, Erica’s brother?”

Kaner shoulders his way in, purposefully leaving all his finesse at the door. “Name’s Kaner. Remember it, asshole.”

He doesn’t look back so he doesn’t end up seeing Jonny’s reaction, but he definitely sees the tray of jello shots that Erica’s already smashing, so that’s really the end of that.

 

~

 

That wasn’t the end of that.

It’s been more than an hour, way more than an hour. It’s probably almost three in the morning and the party’s already dwindled down to a handful of people lazily mingling in the main room. The music’s still going but they’re playing _Caroline_ for what Kaner thinks is the tenth time. He’ll swear til his death that he can’t stand that song anymore, as much as it’s overplayed at every fucking party, but he secretly still bops to the “west side killer” part because the west suburbs are totally still West Side and that’s him, that’s Kaner, kicking it up in the west ‘burbs. Slays so much he’s a killer. Or maybe it’s ‘cause he wins so much he’s a killer. Killer of defenders, maybe? Try to take _that_ dangle, Kaner’s got some sweet ass fucking hands, fucker.

Oh yeah, it’s three AM.

Kaner decides it’s probably time to find Erica and drag both of their embarrassingly wasted asses back home, before Jessica finds them and makes a big deal about it. Kaner loves her to pieces but one day she’s gotta learn that booze is _not_ the enemy. Especially today, when it might be such a not-enemy that it’s a friend. _His_ friend. His _only_ friend on this whole damn lake, actually.

Kaner really likes booze.

Wandering from his spot in the main room to the kitchen, Kaner keeps getting distracted and therefore keeps forgetting to look for Erica. He realizes this only as he makes it to the kitchen, where they’re pouring out a shotski.

“Bro,” some dude waves him over, “we need one more. Come on, man.”

Kaner rolls his eyes but is more than open to any and all suggestions right now. Man, maybe he should get fucked up after a bad game, then he’d be down for anyone and everyone to wail on his play and his technique and his teamwork skills or whatever. It’d probably be more productive than sitting there sober and tuning out the dumbass stickhandling tech. Huh, maybe he should work on that, actually.

But for now, there’s a shotski loaded with Fireball and it’s calling his name.

Well, more like one of the dudes lined up for it is calling his name.

“Dude, it’s Kaner, right?” It’s Jonny, a little wobbly and a little squinty, but definitely still Jonny.

“Yea, man,” is all he says. He’s not mad at Jonny right now because he can’t really find room to be mad at _anything_ right now. He kind of wants to compliment everyone, actually.

“You got a nice face, bro,” is what comes straight from his head and out of his mouth. Oh well. He shrugs and faces his shot.

“Thanks, dude, yours too,” Jonny replies, smooth and genuine.

Lucky for Kaner, he doesn’t have time to blurt out something even more stupid because the ski is already raised and they’re about to tip it.

He swallows his Fireball smooth like a good boy.

“Hey man,” Jonny says once they set the ski down. He kinda motions for Kaner to follow him away from the bar area, so Kaner does.

“What’s up?” Kaner asks, a little skeptical. The booze is helping. Kaner doesn't think he’d be talking to Jonny otherwise. Or sharing a shotski with him. See? Booze is Kaner’s only good friend up here. Encouraging him to be nice and whatever.

“Yo look man, this is kind of awkward but uh, I wanna say sorry for this morning.” Jonny’s looking down and won’t really meet his eyes. He’s rubbing at the back of his neck and he’s a little tense, despite the fact that he should be feeling the Fireball going down right now.

“Huh?” Kaner squints at him. He’s a little slower than usual, especially since he’s kind of focused on the feeling of the shot making its way through his body. Unlike his buddy here, apparently.

“You know,” Jonny says uncomfortably, “with the fountain?”

Then it clicks. Kaner blinks and says, “oh.”

Jonny waits for him to say more, but when he doesn’t, he says, “I really am sorry. My cousins are assholes. They’re kind of spoiled. They thought it’d be funny. But I didn’t. I should’ve stopped them.”

Kaner blinks again, “yeah, okay.”

Now Jonny blinks. “Okay? That’s… that’s it? Aren’t you upset?”

Kaner shrugs. Maybe he is upset. But that’d only be valid if he were sober right now. The booze is telling him that there’s no reason to be upset about anything at all -- not even global warming and dead polar bears, which Kaner is almost always upset about. Gotta feel for your fellow ice bros, right? -- so really, Jonny should just accept that. Kaner’s not sure what else he wants from him.

But then Kaner remembers what he might want from Jonny. He was on a mission before he got, er, _sidetracked_.

“Dude,” Kaner tugs at Jonny’s shirt, “help me find my sister, I gotta get her home.”

“Yeah, okay,” Jonny shrugs. “I’ll look on this side, you go that way.”

In the moment, Kaner thinks it’s a good idea. It’s actually a great idea, really super smart, honestly, until Kaner’s spent a good ten minutes looking in the same spots without any trace of Erica. It’s then that he realizes the lack of a rendezvous point or a way of contact or a plan at all.

If this were an alternative universe and they were like, James-Bond-ey secret agents right now, they’d probably get caught by bad guys with big guns who’d probably lock them up and torture them for secrets on government conspiracies. That’s how bad Jonny’s plan was. What an asshole, putting the entire country at risk. Kaner thinks he should be ashamed of himself.

So Kaner sets out to search Jonny’s side all by himself. If he finds Jonny he’ll grab him, too. Before the bad guys with big guns do. Jonny will think he’s such a nice guy, saving him from baddies, but in reality Kaner’s just a loyal soldier, protecting his country and saving millions of people. What a sucker.

But the plot twists on Kaner: he finds them together. Alone.

They’re huddled kinda close together on a couch. It’s some kind of bedroom, the door left ajar and the windows open enough to let in a breeze with the moonlight. They hadn’t turned on the lights, opting for the conspicuous darkness.

“Dude, what the _fuck_ , that’s my _sister_ ,” Kaner growls.

They both startle and make distance. Jonny looks like he’s seen a ghost. But before Kaner can do anything else, Erica stands up fast and is already out of the room and tugging Kaner toward the front door.

They don’t talk until they’re two blocks down and turning onto their own street.

“I can’t believe you’re trying to fuck Jonathan-From-The-Golf-Course,” Kaner finally blurts out, more surprised than accusatory. But still a little accusatory because _what the fuck,_ that’s noted asshole Jonathan, who can’t golf for shit but still comes kicking up Kaner’s greens anyway.

Erica looks at him kind of blank for a second, blinking a couple of times. “Um, no?” is all she says.

“Obviously you were,” Kaner huffs, “he’s been checking you out all night.”

Erica laughs, “he was _not_ . He was checking _you_ out, you asshole.”

Now it’s Kaner’s turn to go blank as fuck and blink like at least nineteen times. Because eighty-eight would be too many and he doesn’t think he can count that high right now. Especially after the shotski.

“Oh my god, you’re serious,” Erica gasps and kind of giggles. Her jaw drops, which makes her face looks super long. It’s kind of funny. Kaner laughs.

Erica ignores him and continues to wax on about how stupid he is. Kaner tries to tune that out because it’s what he’s used to. He gets enough of that in Coach’s office, alright, he shouldn’t have to hear it from his baby sister, too.

But then she goes, “He’s _gaaaaaay,_ Patty. Like as in. He fucks _dudes_ . With _dicks_.”

It’s weird how she has to actually say it like that for it to click. Now Kaner’s jaw drops, and he can only hope it doesn’t make his face look as long as Erica’s.

“But what were you guys doing in the bedroom?”

“You’re so stupid,” she laughs, “he was asking how he can get to _you_.”

Yup. More blinking. “Oh.”

Erica kinda shoves at his arm and lets him epiphanize and whatever while she unlocks their front door. After a few tries, too many not to be embarrassing, she eventually gets it open and drags him in, shoving him in the direction of the stairs.

“Go to sleep, you moron. Before Jess wakes up.”

Kaner is highly suggestible right now (see also: the shotski) so he goes straight to bed and immediately falls asleep.

 

~

 

It’s a week before Kaner sees Jonny again.

Not that it’s entirely abnormal, but Jonny’s usually out on the course at least every other day. If anything, not even to play, but to accompany his grandfather. But even if he had been around, there wouldn’t have been a guarantee that Kaner would be caddying for him, nor that they would cross paths. The course is pretty big and one run could take hours, long enough for someone like Jonny to do a couple of holes and leave before Kaner would return.

But even then, if Kaner had seen him at the course, he isn’t sure what they would say, if they said anything at all.

Ever since Erica pointed out Jonny’s, ahem, _interest_ in him, Kaner hasn’t been able to get him out of his head. Kaner doesn’t have a lot of criteria (“What’s your type, Patty?” “I dunno, I’m not picky.” “Not picky? Oh so you just have low standards.” “What? No!”) but if he had to sit down and really think about it (he hates having to think), he’d probably say that Jonathan is exactly his type.

He’s tall and athletic and has some really nice thighs that look good as fuck in his stupid collection of Chubbies. Kaner thinks the white ones look the best. Doesn’t leave anything to the imagination, actually. It’s actually kind of a tragedy that Kaner’s waited this long to stop and appreciate them.

He supposes he’ll have to add “white Chubbies brand shorts” to his Thanksgiving speech this year.

But anyway, Kaner’s spent a whole week fantasizing about what’s hidden under those stupid white Chubbies because he hasn’t seen the real deal in seven whole days.

In retrospect, the fact that Jonny literally lives three blocks away from him and just down the shoreline should’ve been an indicator. The fact that the town is really just a community of seasonal lake houses, and therefore small as hell, should’ve been an indicator. The fact that there’s only one grocery store within twenty miles should’ve been an indicator.

Look, put simply, he finally runs into Jonny when he’s trying to pick out his goddamn cereal of the week.

It’s a battle between Captain Crunch and Trix, by way. Although, the captain’s armada is a lot more tactical than a stupid magic rabbit, so it’s really no surprise which one is winning.

“Oh, hi,” Jonny says, reaching for Special K.

Surprised to see Jonny -- AKA the guy who’s been non-stop in Kaner’s head for the past week -- while Kaner is in one of his most vulnerable states, Kaner freezes and blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Who the fuck eats Special K?”

Wow, Kaner, so smooth. Fresh zamboni smooth.

“Er,” Jonny looks at him kinda weird. Oh no, we can’t have that now.

Quickly, Kaner tries to change the subject, “haven’t seen you around the course lately.”

“Yeah,” Jonny absently rubs at the back of his neck, “in case you haven’t noticed, golf’s not really my thing.

“That’s never stopped you before,” Kaner says, trying his hardest to sneak the Captain Crunch into his cart without Jonny seeing it and judging him. “You come by all the time and hack these awful holes into my grass.”

“Hey now, I’m not that terrible--”

“They’re so bad that I can’t even call them divots, anymore. Hell, you should come up here when we’re trying to aerate, we’d probably save a lot of money,” Kaner continues, strolling into a new aisle to see if Jonny will follow him. It’s the middle of summer so there’s really not a big demand for soups or anything but here they are anyway. Now Kaner’s stuck pretending to study the monotonous Campbell labels so Jonny doesn’t think he’s thinking about his dick.

Kaner is totally thinking about Jonny’s dick.

He has zero self control, alright? What else is new. If you asked Coach, he’ll confirm it and say it transfers onto the ice. Says he needs to pass more. Whatever.

“I don’t even like golf, to be honest with you,” Jonny continues. Kaner kinda missed a chunk before that, while he was reading the ingredients on Campbell’s Chunky Chicken Noodle Soup, but he doesn’t let Jonny know that. Instead, he nods and listens to Jonny continue.

“I really just go to make Grandpa and Dad happy, you know? Dave -- that’s my brother -- he likes golf. He used to go with them but he’s gotten so good he’s spending his an entire summer at golf camp. Who goes to golf camp? It’s not even a real sport. It’s what you do when you suck at your real sport.”

Kaner stops staring at the soups to blink at him. “Do _you_ have a real sport?”

Ah, there’s that weird look again. Jonny says slowly, “yeah I play hockey… I’m like about to get drafted? For the NHL?”

Kaner rolls his eyes, “yeah sure, asshole, and I’m about to go first overall. Tell me another one.”

Jonny continues his now-familiar weird look but eventually shrugs off whatever mood he’s in and accepts it. Accepts that he’s not funny and his jokes are lame, probably. Kaner would know if he’s getting drafted. He’d know because Kaner’s getting drafted next year and some of his buddies are going this year. The draft’s been at the forefront of his thoughts (pointedly excluding the past week). He swears he’d have known if someone like Jonny was about to get picked for the big league.

Jonny’s still talking; it’s something about hockey so honestly Kaner has no excuse not to be listening to him but he’s been staring at the soups long enough that kind of he’s tricked himself into craving soup. He doesn’t really know which one so he decidedly grabs six at random and throws them unceremoniously into his cart. It’s a little loud, but apparently loud enough to startle Jonny into shutting up.

Embracing the newfound silence, Kaner takes the opportunity to once again, avoid thinking, and goes straight to talking.

This time he blurts, “so I’m thinking we should fuck.”

Jonny goes bright-ass red and it takes everything in Kaner to remember his most basic manners and not straight up laugh at him.

“Now?” is what comes out of Jonny’s open mouth. Maybe it’s incredulous but maybe it’s eager. Kaner decides it’s eager (even though it’s very obviously incredulous).

“Well not _now_ , stupid. I gotta drop off the groceries. But I know where you live. And it’s big. I’m sure we can find a nice empty room to--”

“Okay!” Jonny cuts him off, eyes wide and maybe even redder, if it’s possible. Then quieter and a little calmer, “fine okay, my place. One hour. Don’t ring the bell, okay? I’ll be waiting.”

He’s gone with his Special K faster than Kaner can (not) think of anything else to blurt out.

 

~

 

Kaner finds out pretty fucking fast that Jonny is both incredibly handsy and unsurprisingly demanding in bed.

Well, “in bed” meaning more like pinned to the goddamn wall with Jonny’s hands up his shirt and his mouth slotted against Kaner’s neck like it’s meant to be there. Eventually, one hand ventures lower and lower until it plays at Kaner’s waistband, teasing over the edge. Kaner presses into it, searching for the right touch.

But Jonny doesn’t let him have it. He pulls away and spins Kaner around, immediately going in for the kiss. Kaner parts his lips and invites Jonny in. It’s so fucking sloppy, desperately sloppy, with teeth accidentally clacking together and tongues tangled messily. At some point Jonny gives up because he starts biting at Kaner’s bottom lip, instead. Soothingly sucking at it before biting it sharp and quick until it puffs nicely.

“God, Kaner, your fucking mouth,” is what he finally says.

Kaner grins, “I’ve been told I’m a great conversationalist.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Jonny rolls his eyes.

“But hey,” Kaner says, low and breathy, “that’s not the only thing it does.”

Suddenly Jonny’s dragging him to the edge of the bed and pushing him down while he shucks off his own shorts and settles on the bed, knees spread wide at either side of Kaner’s head.

“Holy fuck,” is how Kaner greets the bulge in Jonny’s boxers.

“Well?” Jonny says.

“Pushy,” mutters Kaner. He reaches for it, pulling the waistband down until Jonny’s cock pops out, tall and thick and already leaking precum and the tip. Kaner tucks the elastic securely under Jonny’s balls, making sure to get a good grope on those before sliding up the shaft. Jonny exhales shakily and it drives Kaner crazy.

He gets to work soon enough, stroking the shaft in one loose fist while he sucks at the tip. Jonny’s up there moaning and gasping and shit but Kaner doesn’t really pay attention. He focuses on the little twitches of Jonny’s cock, heavy in his mouth, as it grows and reacts to Kaner’s little show.

He flicks his tongue over the hole the swirls around it, firm and deliberate. Then he goes back down, tucking his teeth under his lips, to take it in and hollow his cheeks out. He continues like that, alternating between lighter touches and hard sucks.

Until Jonny’s hands find his curls and bunch them into fists as substantial handholds.

Kaner grins in his head (since his mouth is currently occupied and hard at work) with a new idea. He takes a deep breath through his nose, prepping for it, then relaxes the back of his throat.

His hands fall to Jonny’s balls in order to make room when Kaner swallows him down to the root, all in one swift motion.

Jonny’s hands grow tighter in his hair, pushing him down further. Kaner focuses on breathing through his nose and otherwise allows him to push deeper. After a moment, Kaner gets ready and swallows around him.

The effect is immediate. Kaner can feel Jonny’s cock pulsating within his throat. He can hear Jonny throw his head back and moan wantonly, whimpering a quiet little, “holy _shit_ , holy shit, _yes!_ ”

Feeling victorious, Kaner swallows one more time before coming back up. Without popping off and continuing to breathe through his nose, Kaner settles in to suck at the tip again, with intricate tongue work here, before going down all the way again.

Eventually, with Jonny’s balls rolling in one of his hands, Kaner finally gets Jonny to come, accepting the hot stream of it down his throat. Kaner swallows dutifully, wiping off any extra saliva off his lips with the back of his hand once he’s done.

“C’mere,” Jonny says groggily, insistently tugging Kaner up onto the bed with him. He pushes at Kaner’s shorts until they slide off to his knees. Jonny snakes a hand between them until he’s hovering right over the bulge in Kaner’s briefs.

He goes for it and squeezes gently, causing Kaner to moan Jonny’s name loud and borderline obnoxious. He’s Patrick Kane, after all. Quiet isn’t really his thing.

Jonny does that a couple more times before he slips his hand in, the tightness of Kaner’s briefs keeping Jonny’s hand close and firm against him. Jonny starts by fingering at the tip but eventually works his way down, stroking in a similarly loose grip. Except he goes slow as fuck and Kaner can’t help but buck into it.

“Nope,” Jonny scolds him, rolling until he’s on top of Kaner, pinning his hips down with his weight. “Take what I give you.”

Kaner whines, needy as ever, but allows Jonny to do this however he pleases.

“Good,” Jonny whispers, lips brushing against his ear. He bites at his earlobe at same time he thumbs over the slit again and it causes Kaner to yelp.

Jonny takes that as a cue to start pressing his lips all over him again, starting with his lips. He doesn’t get extensive with the tongue, only because he moves on to trail over Kaner’s neck and eventually his chest. He leaves a couple of nice, dark hickies just under Kaner’s collarbone, savoring the little whines and gasps and rewarding them with tight little squeezes on Kaner’s cock.

Between Jonny’s fucking teeth and his firm hand, Kaner doesn’t last long at all.

“Jonny, I’m-- I gotta--” Kaner whines, doing his best to keep from bucking into Jonny’s grip.

“Go ahead, give it to me,” Jonny encourages him, lifting up a little to give him more room. He pumps his fist faster.

“Fuck, yes. Yes!”

And just like that, Kaner is arching off the bed and coming in his underwear, Jonny’s hand unrelenting until he’s done.

Jonny rolls off and they just lay there, panting for a good while. Neither says a word, neither moves. They just stare at the ceiling and breathe until it’s calm again.

“Dude…” Kaner starts.

“Just,” Jonny sighs, “shut up for once, okay? Just for once.”

Kaner turns over with a shit-eating grin, already back on his game and ready to give Jonny as many weird looks as he wants.

“Okay,” he says.

He stares and stares and stares until Jonny finally breaks.

“Okay fine, you can _talk_ , jesus.”

“Good because god _damn_ , Jonathan, where have you been all summer? I’d believe you if you’d said you’re getting ready to get drafted for the handy olympics,” Kaner laughs, emphasizing it with a jerking off motion, “I’d draft you first overall.”

Jonny rolls his eyes.

It’s going to be a long (and noisy) summer.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! Lemme know what you thought! 
> 
> This is for game three of the [Blackhawks Summer Fic Fest](http://coffeekristin.tumblr.com/post/161101119308/blackhawks-summer-fic-fest-2017)! It was originally for the prompt “Golfer/Caddy AU” but it kind of incorporated “Lakehouse AU” and “Bro-ey baby hockey players AU” on accident. Also, you can probably tell, but I don’t know shit about golf, which is pretty bad considering I’ve been going to a country club for like ten years. Talk about embarrassing, whoops. 
> 
> Anyhow, please come find me on my fic twitter, @[pinkmanite](http://www.twitter.com/pinkmanite), or my hockey tumblr, @[yammertime](http://yammertime.tumblr.com/).
> 
>  
> 
> BONUS:
> 
>  


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